


Can't Breathe You In

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot, Sad Zayn, also full of shitty mitam references, anti fluff?, because why the fuck not, everyone's hating on zayn but like, he's still my baby so, hes such a dork tbh, it's just a sad one shot with zayn and liam, just zen milk diddly do after he leaves the band, little prince zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Liam have always been woven together, more so than the other boys. It would've been hard to separate completely, to remove every piece of each other from themselves. Every little piece of clothing, trail of clutter, breadcrumbs of personality picked from the mess that they are. And of course, there's Harry, the mediator of the group and basically the one who acted like Zayn's therapist, Louis, the little menace who corrupted him, and Niall, the adorable Irish charm, who had somehow wormed his way into Zayn's heart. They all mean so much to him, and yet they aren't exactly on speaking terms.</p><p>or, </p><p>Zayn finds himself alone in a hotel room and reminisces old memories. Liam's not there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Breathe You In

The hotel room is dark, first of all. He’s got all the lights turned off, and the curtains drawn tight to keep out any of the light pouring in from the contrasting, lively city. It’s fine, Zayn thinks. Calming, even. He cranes his neck up from where he’s somehow ended up curled on the floor between the pristine, white bed and the weird couch-sofa bed, to see that the radio clock on the bedstand reads **_12:01 A.M. January 13 2016_ **.

He has his phone clutched in his hand, bare and blinking brightly back at him. It’s opened to the message app, where a new text from Harry read; _hi Zayn. Hope you’re well. Birthday wishes x._

He chuckles, shaking his head. Birthday wishes? Birthday wishes _what_?  
Harry was always like that, talking like some wise philosopher, when he really is a giggling mess of happy. He misses him, he realises in a flash, before he decides, no, he misses his memories.  
If things were the way he wished they were, Harry would’ve been by his side now, both of them scrolling through lists of music, recommending them to each other and staying up to talk about their family and home. His most memorable, important, intimate conversations had all been with Harry, early into the morning, in the a.m.

He taps around the screen a little, and before he can stop himself, he finds himself staring at the text he had gotten from Liam. _Hi_ it had said. _Happy birthday Zayn! I hope you have a great one. -Liam.  
_ He had added the “-Liam”, as if Zayn would have removed his number from his phone. As if he could have forgotten who in the world Liam Payne was, when really, he used to mean the world to him. The same Liam who hugged him tight when they made it through as a group on the X-Factor. The same Liam who hugged him tight when they lost. The Liam who let him leave without a goodbye.

And the thing is, it sounds so impersonal, the text, “I hope you have a great one!”  
Really? What is this, a birthday card from a coworker to the man who works in the same floor as him but he can’t be bothered to remember his last name? A message to that person who’s awkwardly closer than just a person you know, but not quite a friend? A low key celebrity to a fan?

He’d also gotten a text from Louis saying _happy bday mate_ when usually it would’ve been a surprise appearance at his flat with pizza and things to smoke. A text from Niall saying _Zayn! Happy birthday!_ where it should’ve been a lung crushing hug in person, and a fifa match complete with beer and playful wrestling.  
But neither compare to Liam.

Liam, the one he was the closest to, the one who centered him, the one who kept him from drowning. Sure, they have- _had_ now- a bit of a bromance, accidental kiss(es) included, but it was more than that. Liam was the one who saw him break down and lose. Zayn was the one who Liam let go in front of. They were the only ones who could know about their weaknesses. Liam, being the mature one out of all of them, had always tried to keep it together. He was the one who had to keep Louis from getting into trouble, keep Harry from losing himself in his image, keep Niall from ever having to stop smiling, and to keep Zayn from running out of air.

Fuck oxygen. When Liam was there with a hand on his back, and an unwavering voice telling them what to do, he could breathe. And in return, Zayn was Liam’s escape. When the responsibility was too much, when Harry was forgetting who he was in the mix of his womanizer image, when Louis was posed as anyone other than the peter pan with a heart of gold that he actually was, when Niall somehow couldn’t find it in him to smile, Liam would go to Zayn, who was there with hugs and encouragements and gentle hands.

This wasn’t about their “bromance” anymore. They were a pair, a package deal. They gave themselves up until they had nothing-- nothing but each other. They built themselves back up on each other, they relied on each other, they were each other’s lifeline, the last strand of rope before falling into a black abyss, and that. That’s what’s happening to him now, he thinks. Without Liam.

He breathes loudly, the exhale going on a lot longer than he could’ve imagined possible with the size of his lungs, and puts the phone down. He leans back on the side of the bed, his eyes catching a glimpse of the lights outside, as the ends of the curtains in the middle billow up at a gust of air conditioned wind. He remembers, a while ago, in a hotel room not unlike this one, he had shared with Harry. It was late, it was after a show, and they were all exhausted, and yet the two had found themselves sitting up against the headboards of Zayn’s side of the bed, the curtains wide open and talking about whatever came to mind.

He had unloaded on him, talking about how he never felt relaxed anymore, and how he missed his family and this doesn’t feel right. That he questions whether he would die knowing he fulfilled his dream if he kept doing this. Harry had frowned, furrowing his eyebrows and playing around with his own hands before starting off with a drawled out “ _Well,”_  and continuing in his slow speech, “ _If you don’t feel… right, then maybe you just need a change. I mean, I went on the X-Factor hoping to get through as a solo act, and even though I was happy as a group, there was still a part of me that was disappointed. But now, I’m glad I didn’t go through as a solo act. Because I can’t imagine what living like this would be like without you, and Louis, and Niall, and Liam. It sounds really lonely.”_ He pauses. “ _Really lonely.”_

He wasn’t wrong, he thinks bitterly, missing those late night conversations. It is too quiet, too calm, too lonely without them.  
When he was still with them, each day was like a hurricane. Wake up, sing, shout, scream, laugh, cry, enjoy life, be happy, be angry, be sad, laugh some more, smile, sleep. It was a whirlwind, in and out every single day. It kept him busy, it kept him talking, it kept him smiling. But now? By himself, in planes, in studios, in public, in _hotel rooms_ , it’s all too tragic, like some sort of withdrawal.

He’d like to add that to the list of dangerous drugs, please.  
_Being in a boyband. Intense withdrawal symptoms after quitting. Don’t start now._

He’s even cried calling his mum, which like, he never does- until now. She had been so comforting, so gentle to him, as if he was going to shatter any minute. When he tried to tell her that he loves her too, he was surprised to find his voice cracking and wavering. He had reached a hand to his cheeks and felt tears. Who cries hearing their mum’s voice over the phone? Him.  
How pathetic. When he was touring with the other boys, hopping from country to country, he’d be fine with a call every week and a simple good night text with his mum. Now, after he had somehow gathered enough energy to move himself from the hotel bar to his room, suddenly he was _sobbing_ for chrissake.

It’s always been an option. Calling the boys- calling Liam. Why not? It’s not like they’re mad at him, right? They would pick up and say hello? They miss him too, _right_ ? And there’s that voice in the back of his head, telling him no. Telling him that he left for a reason, and he was the reason why they were all sad for a short period of time. Emphasis on short. That he can’t miss them; that he isn’t _allowed_ to, because he had made the choice to leave. That would make him selfish, to leave when he wants and go crawling back to them when he gets sad. So he decides, he won’t. He _can’t_. 

And yet he finds himself staring at Liam’s contact, the phone ringing. Just beacuse he’s an idiot with no sense of self control, whatsoever.

Each time it rings, he breathes heavier, hand gripping tighter, eyes staring stronger at the- the _ridiculous_ picture of Liam's crinkling eyed smile. He remembers waking up to Liam sleeping inches away from him, giggling as he grabbed his phone, and Liam surprising him as he opened his eyes the moment the shutter went off. He remembers blushing and laughing as Liam asked what he was doing, " _Taking a picture obviously, Leeyum"_ , and nearly dying from being out of breath as Liam tickled him in retaliation. He smiles wistfully at the profile picture, and then the ringing stops, and there’s a long five seconds of deafening silence until-

“ _Hi, it’s Liam.”_ His heart nearly stops.  
He figures he should talk before Liam thinks it’s a fan prank, or an accidental call. He opens his mouth to reply, “I-”

“ _I_ _’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now.”_  
Oh.  
_“Thanks for calling um,_ _I’ll do my best to call back, but you can leave me a message too. Also, if your name is Louis Tomlinson, the answer is no. If not, then sorry again, and just… leave me a message, yeah. I’m sure that whatever you called me to say is important, and-”_

He ends the call.

 _God_ , he was so stupid, of _course_ , it would go to voicemail. What had he thought, that Liam would just answer all cheerful and happy to have gotten a call from him? He would have just started with a simple “Hi!” and they would have exchanged quick “sorry”’s for the months of unresolved tension?  
He feels his eyes stinging as he lets the phone drop between his knees, taking a shuddering breath.

He feels like there’s too much air, and he can’t breathe. The walls are closing in on him, and the room seems endlessly big. He scampers up onto the bed and under the blankets in a haze, as if someone had just sucked his thinking mind from him. His hand latches onto a huge, fluffy pillow, bringing it down with him, hugging it to his chest and holding on for dear life. In his little bubble under the blanket, he feels just a bit safer from the rest of the world. It’s fine, for him. He’s fine, everything’s fine, it’s all just going fine.  
He hears what sounds like his phone going off, and he calms his breathing to hear the song and it’s going;

 

 

 

 

> _He keeps my heart from getting broken_
> 
> _When the days get short_
> 
> _And the nights get a little bit frozen,_
> 
> _We hold each other_

 

Usually, he’d be singing along to it, happy to get a call from Liam, because this was their song. Sure, the song was supposed to be for lovers, but it made sense to him. So much. Any other time, and he’d probably be rushing to get to the phone, but now, it only makes him burrow deeper into the bed. He can’t, he can’t, he _can’t_. His phone can’t be going off, because it can’t be Liam, because he can’t talk to him, and he’s not going to. He can’t.  
He squeezes his eyes shut, clamping his hands over his ears and positively ruining the sheets with his tears. He can’t. The phone stops, and the room is quiet for only a minute before it starts ringing again. Can’t.

Maybe in a different life, he wouldn’t have left.  
Maybe, Liam wouldn’t have ignored his calls for a straight ten months. Maybe, he wouldn’t be huddled in the corner of a huge hotel room, the sound of silence ringing in his ears. Maybe, he would be feeling okay, at rest, happy, content, _at home_.

Maybe.  
Just not in this life.

  
A shiver runs down his spine, and he huddles closer into himself. There’s nothing he should miss, he thinks, because things you miss are simply things you never cherished.   
But Zayn did cherish the lads. It wasn't if he'd choose his dream, or the boys. It wasn't a matter of loving more, but loving enough.

And he thinks, he  _knows_ he loved them enough. That's all that matters.  
In the cold, empty hotel room, he's curled up under the blankets and the phone is going off every few minutes on the floor, the man on the other end of it worried sick and anxious out of his mind, but it's alright. Because he loves them, and that's enough for him.  
He loves them, and that's all that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Personally, I think Zayn and Liam had the strongest bond, and I think those were the two most affected by all of this. I just hope they're okay.
> 
> on a different note, my baby is prospering in his own kingdom.  
> so basically;
> 
> me: *shouts into the void* I lOVe zAyN
> 
> void: biTch me too the fuck
> 
>  
> 
> tumbler: leoluminosity


End file.
